


Three little words

by BitterTea



Category: Tactics
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Angst, Hate Sex, I Don't Even Know, Kinda, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Mutually Unrequited, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, from both sides?, total clusterfuck of repressed feelings and words and sexual attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4571775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterTea/pseuds/BitterTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s no cryptic smile on his lips now. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and his chin tipped back; pale throat bared. His moans are halfway sobs. He is pathetic to look at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three little words

There’s nothing separating them from the wooden floor but a thin sheet of cloth. Not enough to ward off splinters. With the ruthless pace they’ve set, he’s going to have bruises. Painful ones too; dark purple on his back from when he shoved him against the doorframe, blue where he pulled him to the ground.

Haruka sneers in anger, his body coiling up like a tightly wound spring, and his hips snap forward, making the smaller man jolt and clench his hands with a wrecked sound. It probably hurt.

There’s nothing soft or tender about this. No, it’s all tension. They’re still partly dressed; bodies hot and dry and hard against each other; feet scrambling along the floor with every cruel thrust, trying to find some kind of support; friction so rough it burns. He grits his teeth and glares down at the other’s blissfully strained expression. Angry red lines stretch down across his pale chest and the sight of them makes him jerk forth: At once both disgusted and primally aroused when the abrupt movement makes him writhe and arch, a word spilling from his mouth.

A name; a spell; a request; an order.

And he complies, lurching forward savagely, his stone-like grip planting blue imprints on Kantarou’s hips. He doesn’t care; he won’t get to see them, clothes ever and always slyly concealing any of the marks. Covering the proof.

Bile rises in the back of his throat at the thought of being known to submit like this; to the will of a whimsical, spoiled human, and he wants to spit; wants to hurt him for doing this to him. That’s what he wants though: he wants to be hurt. Wants to override his limits and be forced though he is still ultimately the one to force; to be humiliated though he is the one doing the humiliation. Yet he hides away the bruises without a question and not a single mocking remark. And what Haruka can’t stand, is that he does it for him.

It’s not embarrassment; it’s not the sort of thing Kantarou would feel conflicted about. It would be so easy for him, too easy, to flaunt the marks of possession; to reveal exactly how deep his control runs. One movement that lets his sleeve slide up to far; one day with a too loosely wrapped collar, and everyone would know. Haruka waits for it, he dreads it. But it never happens. Instead, whenever Kantarou catches him watching his movements a bit too intently, he smiles softly. The kind of infuriating, unreadable smile that is his trademark. Sometimes Haruka thinks it’s sad and sometimes it seems reassuring.

There’s no cryptic smile on his lips now. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and his chin tipped back; pale throat bared. His moans are halfway sobs. He is pathetic to look at.

Haruka drags him closer, pushes deeper and crowds him against the floor; makes him choke on a gasp, scarlet eyes clench shut. It’s like that saying: Burnt child dreads the fire, only Kantarou doesn’t dread it. Fears it, yes, but he seeks it out, plays with it, _loves_ it. Haruka hates it. Hates that he doesn’t take danger seriously, hates that it takes brutal force and pain to get him going like this.

Kantarou pulls his hair, whispering his name over and over again, like a chant, like he’s drowning and it’s the only thing that keeps him floating. His lips ghost across Haruka’s and he snarls, shoves him back down; pins his wrists to the floor and pounds into him, selfishly seeking his own release. When he finally stills, coming with a hoarse moan, Kantarou makes a low, filthy noise and spills his own seed between them; three little words on his lips that makes Haruka want to strangle him.

Because it’s wrong; they’re all wrong and it makes him feel _sick_.

_“Haruka. Haruka, **I am sorry**.”_

 

 


End file.
